Nothing, as the lawyers say, probative. Nothing linking Bolton himself to the Macklins. To the Obliteration Virus. But as Daddy says, better to know t...an not.Felicity was listening intently.Unbidden, Carmen sent in lunch from The Ivy. Even I’ve heard of it. Wisely, Carmen joined us.Fresh-squeezed tangerine juice. Cold poached artichoke. Wild swordfish tacos. Ricky’s fried chicken. Snickers for dessert.Back to work.I looked at Jessie, at Jesse. “Talk to me about Grace Macklin.”Another. Leda had taken the gate.“No!” she screamed again. “Leda!” Grabbing the tote, she hurled it through where the gate should be, watched it fly spinning through the air, haphazardly disgorging its contents across the floor. “No!” she screamed, again. “You can’t do this, Leda!”Furious, she whirled on her bad foot, grimaced in agony as the ankle buckled beneath her, and then stumbled to the dais and climbed up. The gate couldn’t be gone. This was its home location. Leda had told her so. Yet a wave. More

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